Open Access: Contextualising the Archivolted Portals of Northern Spain and Western France within the Theology and Politics of Entry

280 Pages·2012·6.57 MB·English

by  Mickey Abel

Open Access

Open Access:
Contextualizing the Archivolted Portals
of Northern Spain and Western France
within the Theology and Politics of Entry
By
Mickey Abel
Open Access:
Contextualizing the Archivolted Portals of Northern Spain and Western France
within the Theology and Politics of Entry,
by Mickey Abel
This book first published 2012
Cambridge Scholars Publishing
12 Back Chapman Street, Newcastle upon Tyne, NE6 2XX, UK
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
Copyright © 2012 by Mickey Abel
All rights for this book reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system,
or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or
otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner.
ISBN (10): 1-4438-3564-1, ISBN (13): 978-1-4438-3564-0
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Preface.......................................................................................................vii
Acknowledgments......................................................................................xi
Introduction.................................................................................................1
Opening the Door: Freeing the Ornamental Form
Chapter One...............................................................................................35
Speaking in Three Dimensions
Chapter Two..............................................................................................63
Time, Rhythm, and Motion
Chapter Three............................................................................................91
Defining Space Within, Around, and Between
Chapter Four............................................................................................121
Inclusive Circles of Peace: The Politics of Entry
Chapter Five............................................................................................159
Access Controlled: The Closure of Reform
Endnotes..................................................................................................175
Bibliography............................................................................................229
Index........................................................................................................265

PREFACE
Anyone who has visited the rural towns and villages of western France
and northern Spain has experienced something of the communal energy of
these places. Whether it is the morning queue at the bakery for the daily
bread, the weekly bustle of the itinerant markets, or the more occasional
gatherings associated with the transitional moments of life—a just-missed
wedding evidenced by the remnants of rice and rose petals scattered on the
plaza, a christening or first communion celebrated by joyful bands of
children and parents banqueting in the garden beside the church, or the
more somber farewells following a funeral—one comes to recognize the
ubiquitous presence of the small, Romanesque churches that stand at the
center of these villages and act as a backdrops to all of these events. Even
today, as these villages begin (sadly) to clad themselves in the banal
uniformity of corporate modernity, one senses that it is this singular
building that still provides not only the focal point of the village, but the
magnetic force that draws the inhabitants in and binds them to the center.
This was certainly my experience, particularly in the early stages of the
research for this book. Frustrated by the lack of a comprehensive catalogue
of these churches, I set out cross-country, naively thinking I would—or
even could—compile such a catalogue as the preliminary stage of a more
quantitative or statistical analysis. Traveling in my little rental car for
months at a time, sometimes on roads where I had no business taking
anything other than a four-wheel drive vehicle, and other times traversing
as little as ten or fifteen kilometers, but stopping to see six or eight very
similar churches, I came to realize that, unlike Arthur Kingsley Porter
with his fancy touring car and unlimited budget, the monumental task I
had set for myself was not only beyond the scope of my time, and my
finances, as well as my family’s understanding, but in the end, not all that
necessary. This is because the real insights did not come from the
impressive number of these buildings, although that fact certainly
substantiates many of my conclusions. Rather, the insights came in the
more intimate experience of the architectural form within its particular
geographical and cultural context. The insights transformed my approach
and although as a method it is not without its own inherent set of
problems, the adoption of a social anthropological mode of observation
allowed me to witness and record the various ways in which people
viii Preface
continue to use and respond to the churches that sit at the center of their
villages.
One particular day in this program of observational experiences stands
out among many as one of those cathartic moments when the pieces of the
puzzle begin to fall into place. This took place in the small town of
Estella, Spain, in the state of Navarra, on the 25th of July, which is the
feast day of Saint James or Santiago, as he is known in Spain. Most
anywhere along the famous pilgrimage route to Compostela is an exciting
place to be on this day dedicated to patron saint of pilgrims, but Estella
takes particular pride in its pilgrimage heritage. In the Middle Ages this
place was known as the “trailhead” for the Spanish portion of the
pilgrimage; it was the place where those following the various French
routes coming down through the Pyrenees to Roncevalles and then on to
Pamplona, passing over the bridge at Puenta la Reina, would rest and
celebrate before turning west toward Compostella and their final
destination, the tomb of Saint James. This locational legacy translates into
a significantly festive occasion, which I discovered was celebrated with
the upmost of enthusiasm by throngs of pilgrims, tourists, and locals alike.
In fact, the whole of the week leading up to the feast day was alive with
activities as people flocked to the town filling the hotels and populating
the public parks and campgrounds. There were outdoor arts festivals
complete with food purveyors, theatrical re-enactments, and wandering
minstrels of various sorts dressed in localized medieval costume.
Like many towns of both western France and northern Spain, Estella
features a perplexing number of medieval religious sites. Here, as one
follows the twenty kilometers of the pilgrimage road from the town of
Puenta la Reina with its own two Romanesque churches—the Templar’s
El Crucifijo and Santiago, across the extant medieval bridge that gives the
town its name, one comes to the spectacular façade of the more rural San
Roman on the outskirts of the village of Cirauqui, with its portal
comprised of ten archivolts, the centermost lobed in a form that makes
reference to Islam. Approaching Estella proper, one comes to Santa Maria
y Todos los Santos where one gets their first view of the hilly topography
of the place—essentially two ridges separated by the meandering Rio Ega.
To the north and the south, atop these two ridges, two major foundations,
the monastery of San Pedro de la Rúa and the parish of San Miguel seem
to confront each other. To the east and west of these sites, there are two
smaller churches, Santo Sepulcro and San Nicolás, and in the old center,
near the medieval palace of King Sancho Ramirez, there is the convent of
Santo Domingo and the church of San Juan on the main plaza—all within
Open Access ix
(cid:3)
easy walking distance. By any account, this place was not lacking in
religious buildings.
Each of these religious sites held their own celebratory masses during
the festive week of Santiago, but on the actual feast day they coordinated
their celebrations in what I now recognize as an activity that was
particularly medieval in character and organization. Recreating the
emotional excitement of many a medieval procession, the clergy of these
churches systematically and incrementally processed a reliquary casket out
of the monastic church of San Pedro on the south hill, down its elaborate
staircase to the center of town, past the palace, across the bridge over the
Ega, pausing at both San Juan and Santo Domingo before winding up the
opposite northern hill to the parish of San Miguel. The gathering
entourage, which grew in size and enthusiasm along the way, was greeted
at San Miguel by a waiting crowd of clergy, a singing choir, acolytes
ringing bells, and costumed children who danced around the arriving
reliquary. All of this activity took place in front of the northern portal of
the church. Finally, the entire processing crowd, including the crowd of
onlookers filed through the open entry into the church where mass was
said. When this mass was concluded, every bell in all of the town’s
churches peeled in an amazing cacophony of sound as the various
contingents of the procession reassembled behind the relic bearers, to
reverse the route, retracing their previous steps down the hill to the river
and back up to San Pedro. Pausing there at the top of that long staircase,
one more round of blessings, song, and praise were offered before
returning the relic to the safety of the altar.
While all of this was engaging in its color, sound, and action, two
important revelations occurred to me as I witnessed these events. First
was the contagious emotional swell that developed in layers of enthusiasm
as the staged event unfolded, step-by-step, in front of me. Second was
most particularly the role played by the various church portals in this
dramatic staging. Significantly, all the active elements were concentrated
in front of not just the open door of the church, but before and within the
porch-like space configured by the elaborate system of concentric arches
above and around that open entry. Recalling for me the little half-dome,
open-air theater in my hometown park, where as kids we would climb onto
its little stage to perform for our parents, I came to see the arched form of
these church portals as theatrical backdrops. Like that tiny stage of my
youth, the shallow porches, created by the set of concentric arches, were
treated as spaces waiting to be filled with actors—activated by
performance. The imagery carved within that space could no longer be